Hatred
by Italian Nightmares
Summary: "Gilbert had been working as a late-night guitar teacher for only a few weeks before he met Ivan, a hot Russian who worked as a restaurant manager next door. And only last month since they started to date." RusPru. WARNING: Rape and noncon. Definitely one of my sickest works yet. Please read and review!


A/N: I wrote this because today, I was feeling extremely depressed and angry. But do not fret, dear readers, my vent writing turned out to be something I quite like. But, it's extremely sick.

Edit: I wrote this at 2 am with no sleep the past 48 hours, so I somehow thought Ivan's name was Steve. Sorry, I fixed most of the mistakes I think, haha!

**WARNING**: Rape and noncon.

* * *

Gilbert had been working as a late-night guitar teacher for only a few weeks before he met Ivan, a hot Russian who worked as a restaurant manager next door. And only last month since they started to date.

Gilbert grinned as he strummed his prized Taylor, watching his student (not much older than him) struggle. His student, a blond named Alfred, was one of his favorites. But, he had to stay up until 10. Soon after, Alfred thanked the albino, gave him a good sum of money and left him to clean and lock up the music store. All Gilbert could think now, was a steaming, hot shower.

"Privet, podsolnechnika."

The German (technically Prussian) nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He quickly whipped around, ready to defend himself. However, there was only slight relief when he saw that his assailant was not something inhuman and monstrous, but only his boyfriend. He almost didn't recognize his own pet name. Sunflower in Russian.. It sounded harsh coming out of Ivan's mouth, but then again, he was German. Most people would think he's angry when speaking in his native tongue. Nevertheless, Gilberts's heart beat a million miles per hour, and he could feel it thumping against his rib cage and pounding in his ears.

"Hello, Ivan," he began (a little uncertain),"Are you okay? You usually never come to visit me at this hour!"

"Of course I am! I just wanted to see you!"

Gilbert swallowed hard at the sound of his thick Russian accent. Something seemed... off. He gathered his guitar, wallet, and finally the keys.

"Come home with me, tonight, da? Have a drink? Stay the night?"

Ivan opened the front door for Gilbert and gestured to his car still running by the curb. The albino looked uncertainly out into the parking lot at his own vehicle.

"I'll bring you back in the morning. Don't worry about it."

"I don't know, babe..." Gilbert practically moaned. "I'm exhausted. It's been a long day and really just want to go home and sleep and—" He paused for a moment and as he noticed his boyfriends intent, and almost menacing stare. "Danke. But, I really have to go home, Luddy is waiting for me. 'Night, I'll see you tomorrow."

Suddenly, firm fingers grabbed Gilbert's wrist too tightly.

"Really. Tomorrow. I'm sorry."

Ivan's narrowed eyes stabbed the German's soul like knives which threatened to twist in his wounds until he gave in to his boyfriend's desires. There was something threatening in the gaze, something dark and foreboding, but Ivan wouldn't really hurt him.

Would he?

There was silence as the Russian pulled him towards his car, guitar on his back, but words weren't needed in the tense thickness of the cool air.

Gilbert wondered what would happen if he was able to succeed in pulling his wrist from Ivan's grasp, what his reaction would be if he turned his back and began his trek to his own car without a word. He wondered, but that was all. He had no real desire to find out, especially after the threatening gaze Ivan had dished out on him only moments prior. There was something very off about Ivan, tonight, and it was terrifying.

Gilbert's stomach knotted as he got pulled into the car a little too roughly and his guitar was thrown in the back. "Watch it!"

Immediately, Ivan seemed to lighten up again, the dark aurora around him disappearing. After he took his own place behind the steering wheel, he much more gently—though not more appropriately—held Gilbert's hand in his own and leaned across the console to place a sweet kiss on his lover's lips. The German was more than hesitant to return the display of affection, but before he had made up his mind whether or not to move his lips against Ivan's in return, the other man had pulled away and put the car in drive.

There was silence for the rest of the car ride, interrupted only by petty and awkward conversation which Gilbert was in no mood to entertain and made no effort to upkeep. All he wanted to do was to take a hot shower and sleep. He started to doze off a little right before Ivan parked outside of his apartment building.

"Would you like some wine? Maybe vodka?" The Russian asked as he held the door open for Gilbert to get out of the car and again to lead into Ivan's fairly luxurious apartment.

Gilbert's reply was flat and blunt. "I'd rather have a shower." He said rather grumpily. What the hell is his boyfriend's problem tonight?

It seemed that very statement was the last straw.

Gilbert found himself promptly and roughly shoved against the nearest wall, a fistful of his shirt in Ivan's hand and the larger man's muscular body pressed firmly to his own. He was trapped.

"Well I'd rather have you, podsolnechnika. And I'm fucking sick of waiting."

The albino blinked. He was terrified, sure, but what was he supposed to do? "Ivan." he growled sternly, (but with uncertainly). He calmly started to push him away, but his protests and efforts only seemed to enrage his boyfriend further.

Ivan suddenly reached down with one strong hand and begin pulling at his belt buckle. He then slammed his lips against Gilbert's, in a kiss not loving, not sensitive, the farthest thing from sweet, and the German knew that he needed out. He began to panic, afraid, and he struggled against Ivan with no avail. His face flushed as crimson as his eyes, and he protested as much as he could. He tried to turn his head away and shoved hard against Steve's chest in an effort to escape.

That was when Ivan slapped him and Gilbert dissolved into a muck of tears. Not tears of sadness but angry, frustrated, emotional tears which betrayed his inner conflict. There was a part of him that loved Ivan, fell hard for him and wanted him more than the world. There was a part of Gilbert that had cherished that swift slap to the cheek because at least it showed that the Russian cared for once. At least Gilbert was wanted, even if not in the most ideal of ways.

The terror and the conflict that raced through Gilbert's brain was just enough for him to lose control of his body, and began to shake uncontrollably as his boyfriend ripped the shirt from his body.

"Worked up, little bitch?" Ivan sneered and grabbed Gil's snow-white hair to drag him forward again into yet another bruising kiss. Although the German was fit, he was thin and small that it was no great matter to throw him around—to Ivan's great pleasure, he flopped around something like a monstrous ragdoll.

"You like it when I slap you?"

Gilbert's other cheek felt a sting to match the first blow, and through the ringing of his ears he heard Ivan's jeering laugh. He hated that laugh.

Gilbert wasn't sure when, exactly, he had become devoid of his clothing, but when he felt the warmth of Ivan's skin against his own, which was covered in a thin layer of his own sweat, his heart fluttered and his face flushed. Ivan grabbed his hand, guided it lower, and for the first time in his life (he'd never admit it), Gilbert's fingers were wrapped around a hard cock other than his own. Ivan drew in a quick breath, the air hissing through his teeth, and breathed back out in a lewd sigh. "You like that?"

The albino blinked.

Did he?

It was interesting, no doubt, the sting of the blows still remaining on his face, the thrill of being naked and scrutinized, the sensation of feeling another man's pulsing cock—pulsing for Gilbert. But, he felt confused, and in no doubt, violated.

He found himself nodding hesitantly, though he couldn't say if it was out of truthful admittance or obligation to avoid an additional rough punishment. Then again, would feeling the sharpness of Gilbert's fingers against his face again really be such a bad thing? For the first time, the albino noticed that his member, too, was stiffening. He shook again, now in terror of his own body. Oh Gott, was he a masochist?

"Good boy, Gil. Mine."

When Ivan pulled him close and latched his teeth onto the junction between Cecil's neck and shoulder, Gilbert gasped. He wasn't sure if he was in pain, or on ecstasy. The thought scared him even more, and he meekly pushed again.

"P-Please stop. It hurts..." He could feel Ivan's teeth move into a smile against his skin.

"Nyet." He gasped again, then shrieked in pain as Ivan latched onto his back in a more forceful bite and grabbed a fistful of hair. His head was pulled back and he could feel blood run down his spine.

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, Gilbert could still sense the real world, when his knees hit the floor and strong hands forced his shoulders down, when a thumb pushed against his kiss-swollen lips until they opened, then slipped past his teeth to press down against his tongue.

Something else pushed into Gilbert's mouth then, filling it and already leaking something sticky and salty onto his tongue.

"Suck it."

Ivan's words were far from suggestion—they were a command.

"Sosat' moy chlen. "

Gilbert was shocked, but his mouth worked numbly around the head of Ivan's cock. It was bigger than he had thought it would be, for the brief time he had thought about it at all. Wasn't Ivan supposed to ask before doing something like this?

Impatient fingers tangled themselves into Gilbert's hair and yanked his head forward so his throat was full as well, and the albino gagged around the swollen member in his mouth. He gasped for air, choked and coughed around it, and yet Ivan did nothing but moan and throw his head back in ecstasy. Gilbert pushed weakly against Ivan's thighs, and in his efforts, bit the large cock in mouth, not hard, but hard enough for Ivan to yell out in alarm.

Ivan withdrew himself from Gilbert's mouth and kicked him hard in the stomach, twisting his heel into his skin. The German yelped, then screamed, then begged, and Ivan only dug harder into his chest, feeling something snap under his boot. He pushed more beneath his great weight and felt another rib start to crack.

Gilbert grabbed pleadingly at Ivan's hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks and the pain was crippling—he hadn't even heard Ivan's words through the horrifying sounds of his own screams. There was blood now, wetting the floor and slicking Ivan's and Gilbert's skin.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted slightly, but Gilbert was still given no time to recover. Instead, his head was forced forward again to take a leaking cock into his mouth.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he doing this?

Gilbert was confused—couldn't stop the sobs, couldn't keep the saliva from dripping thickly down his chin and falling to the floor to join the mess of his own blood and soon—most likely—Ivan's seed. In and out, at a relentless pace, the Russian thrust in and out of Gilbert's mouth. The young man nearly vomited once, twice, every time that cock, slick with his saliva, forced its way to the back of his throat.

Was Ivan enjoying Gilbert pain and his anguish?

The albino got his answer when something thick and salty shot across his tongue and onto the back of his throat. Through a haze of pain and fear he could hear Ivan's deep, lewd moans as he came, but they weren't sexual to Gil—they were disgusting. He spat the come from his mouth on reflex, sputtering, dribbling, gagging, and still sobbing. He didn't know who Ivan was anymore, but whoever this man—no, this monster—was before him, Gilbert wanted nothing of his within him. With a shaky hand he wiped his mouth, afraid to look up and meet the eyes of the demon who was breaking him.

It was over now. He wondered if he would need a hospital. He feared how long the sharp pain would last.

A rough hand grabbed his chin and forced it upwards, and Ivan was screaming at him—A mix about how dare he didn't swallow and the rest in foreign Russian. It was true that Gilbert had resisted Ivan's persistent yet—until this evening—gentle advances. Gilbert had wanted to be cautious, hadn't wanted to give himself away.

So Ivan had taken him.

And he wasn't finished.

Gilbert's vision was so blurred by tears that he could barely see his way to Ivan's bedroom, but it didn't matter, as the Russian was plenty forceful enough to drag him there on his own. Gilbert had long ago given up. It hurt too much to protest anymore. He felt nauseous, wanted to throw up. He wanted to go home, and goddamn it he still just wanted a shower and a warm, comfortable safe bed to sleep in.

He felt himself stretched wide and ravished, slick with something that was probably a sick combination of blood and lubricant. All the while, was he whispering pleads of mercy in German.

Gilbert didn't remember much about that night, except for a dream so vivid he woke up the next morning wondering if it was real. He dreamt that he had broken up with Ivan in front of his sister's. He dreamt of Ivan's shame, how the entirety of his ridiculed him. "How dare you break his heart?" He could hear the younger screaming at him. Ivan's face was shattered into bits as rumors started to spread about how the perfect couple ended, all because of a certain Russian.

What Gilbert did know the next morning, as he rode in silence with Ivan back to the music shop to retrieve his car, was that his dream was nothing more but that. A dream. Nothing more. He didn't have the guts, and both he and Ivan knew it.

He knew that he was a coward, he knew that he was trapped in whatever this relationship had dissolved into, and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would always despise the Russian named Ivan.


End file.
